


Downer Dreamer

by MeddowsKingRat



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Brian is a sweetheart, Christmas Eve, Fluff and Angst, I love Tim Staffell, Ice Skating, Im sad. everyone is sad, M/M, Roger is Sad, This story should be called “Roger is cold”, Whump, accidentally turned this into self reflection lol sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeddowsKingRat/pseuds/MeddowsKingRat
Summary: Roger Taylor was having a shit day.His hands felt like icicles and his ears were about to fall off. He wishes he’d never agreed to this as he refreshes his phone every 2 minutes, holding onto his last thread of hope that maybe he isn’t so insufferable. That the one person he made time for was worth it.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 25
Collections: The Clog Factory Happy Holidays Fic Exchange





	Downer Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grahamcockroach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcockroach/gifts).



> Happy holidays. Stay safe. Had the lyrics of Dreaming by Blondie in my head writing this, fitting I think.

Roger Taylor was having a shit day.

His hands felt like icicles and his ears were about to fall off. He wishes he’d never agreed to this as he refreshes his phone every 2 minutes, holding onto his last thread of hope that maybe he isn’t so insufferable. That the one person he made time for was worth it. 

He didn’t get much sleep the previous night. The next-door neighbours of the shitty flat he shares with Tim are not afraid of noise complaints as they continue to host college parties till dawn more often than Roger can handle at this point. He recalls how the old woman across the hall had called the police a few times, not that it really did anything. He wishes he didn’t take the room that shared a wall with their apartment. 

Often, he sleeps on the couch in the living room to escape the banging of a headboard against the wall. It never helps his sleep quality anyways, the stiff old cushions of the couch he nicked off the side of the road are always unforgiving to his back and neck. 

He woke up tired and cold on Christmas eve. His alarm didn’t go off, or did he simply just not hear it? Roger can’t be sure. It’s not like he had much to get up early for anyway, but he just missed his favourite show on the telly that he’d normally watch with his morning coffee. He drags his socked feet to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some cold water in his face. He notices the bags under his eyes as he stares at himself for a little bit too long in the mirror.

Roger wasn’t really hungry. Or maybe that’s what he told himself, maybe it’s what he wanted to believe when he opened their pantry to find nothing but some canned tomatoes and dried chickpeas. At least Tim had left a serving of coffee for him. He’ll have to ask him for his share of grocery money later, so he could at least get them some food. Roger thought of it as decorating the cabinet or fridge. Food was the ornament, the decor. Without decor, dullness can bring some sort of sadness. 

It was to be expected, he guesses. Fresh out of university, working small jobs here and there didn’t pay much anyway. He was happy with what he had, but wishing for a little more never hurt anyone. He had his stall with Freddie, these days only run for a couple of days a week since Freddie seemed to be getting busier with his work life. The careers of everyone around him seemed to be taking off steadily, slowly but surely. Roger feels as if he wasn’t made for it, wasn’t made for anything. He wants to be something more, dreams of it sometimes. 

He played gigs with Tim sometimes, at small colleges and pubs, often with some random guitarist in their circle of friends and acquaintances.  
They never really found a guitarist or lead singer that worked well with them or simply stuck around. 

It was one of the things Roger looked most forward to, drumming away for a few hours every weekend was a vice for him. He didn’t have his own drum kit, he’d love to save up for one in a perfect world where could have a kit in a small apartment with thin walls. Using the ones at rehearsal spaces and university band rooms made him better at adapting and sharpened his quick tuning, he thought. Him cancelling his gig tonight to meet up with the guy he’d been talking to online for a little while was a sacrifice for him, he’d have to wait another week before he could play again. Roger could practically feel the smooth wood of his drum sticks in his palms, yearned for it. 

They planned to go ice skating together, Roger thought it would be a good first date, he’d always been somewhat of a cheesy romantic. He figured it was fitting as well as a way to celebrate Christmas eve since he didn’t really have big plans for tomorrow. He’d probably call his mum and sister, go to some friend's janky Christmas party, and eat a ton of food. Wake up hungover, rinse and repeat for new years. He wouldn’t mind a little company. 

Roger bought the tickets a few days prior when they had made the plans, he’d occasionally open his wallet again just to check if they’re really there. 

He sat down at his desk after rinsing his coffee cup in the sink, tapping his fingers on the wood as he waited for his laptop to start up. He picked up a small transcription job not too long ago to help with some of their expenses, it gave him a little more of the security he craved. 

He stayed up last night working on it, hoping to submit it by today to get it out of the way. Roger doesn’t remember what time he went to bed, night blended into day sometimes and it wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in the morning having not remembered going to sleep. 

Searching through his files, Roger can’t seem to locate the document. With a huff he launches the app and goes through his drafts, letting out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in when he locates the document.

Last edited 4:32 AM 

The grey text says. 

Much to Roger's horror, the document is empty. His heart stops in his chest as the plain white screen mocks him

“Are you fucking joking?” He croaks out his first words of the day. 

How? He’d only around written way less than a fourth of it last night, if he forgot to save the rest should’ve been untouched. Had he accidentally deleted it without noticing as he scanned through selecting text in his dazed and barely coherent state? Accidentally pressed backspace with everything selected? What are the chances of it? He curses himself as he feels tears prick the corner of his eyes.

“Oh don’t be fucking baby now you idiot.” He tells himself as he angrily rubs his tears out of his eyes and takes a deep breath

“How? How do you even manage to do that?” He asks himself as he scrolls through the dozens of pages of blank text. He doesn’t have a backup file. He’ll have to start from scratch. 

Deciding he needs more coffee if he’s going to attempt to have the emotional strength to not sulk about it and get shit done, he gets up from his chair a little too aggressively and goes to the kitchen 

He scrapes up the last measly scoop of coffee grains into the old machine, he doesn’t know how much it’ll make. Less than a cup. He resents watery coffee. 

Grumbling with irritation, he flicks the machine on. 

It was sort of a house warming gift from his grandmother, she moved and decided she didn’t need it anymore. Roger gladly took any free appliance and piece of furniture he could get. 

He doesn’t know how old the coffee machine is, old enough that it’s outdated look and yellowing mint green plastic stands out in the kitchen, old enough that moments after Roger turns it on something inside it pops and smoke starts coming out.

“Shit!” Roger breathes as he quickly launches himself towards the counter to pull the plug out of the socket. 

Pulling his t-shirt over his nose, he quickly knocks the machine into the sink beside it, turning the water on in an attempt to calm the smoke before the fire alarm goes off and the neighbours give him any more shit. 

Old enough that today happened to be its death day.

At least there was no fire, he tells himself as he steps out of the kitchen to breathe. 

He then realises with a whimper that that was the last of the coffee and the last of his machine. 

He gives a solid kick to the breakfast bar in frustration only to regret it shortly after his toe hits it at an awkward angle and he’s sitting on the floor clutching his foot in his hands. 

“Ow. Ow ow” He breathes as he clutches his foot to his chest and rolls onto his back 

His lip is wobbling when he takes a deep breath and releases his toe, still laying on the floor. 

He doesn’t really want to get up anymore. He’d rather curl up on the solid floor than face the rest of this day. He wants to pause the world with a remote and go back to sleep, only waking up when he’s ready to suck up to the cruel tricks the universe plays on him.

—

Roger gets some looks from clean-cut businessmen in fitted button ups and hipster college students when he enters the small coffee shop down the street. He fluffs his hair into his face to try to hide himself in shame. He understands though, he probably looks vile with his uncombed hair, a loose t-shirt with holes in it, pink cat print sweatpants, and a large coat thrown on. He couldn’t really be bothered to get dressed, instead opting to grab the first pair of pants he sees slip his trainers on, and throw a coat on himself. He just needs coffee. That’s it. A quick in and out.

He’s never been one to buy coffee from a place like this, it’s usually better and cheaper at home anyways. But between having to buy a new appliance and going to the supermarket to get more coffee, this was the best option right now.

He eyes the pastries as he waits in line, wishing he could have one of the danishes. He knows they’re new and fresh by the employee putting them in the display case with tongs.

He also knows can’t get one. With a small hipster coffee shop comes the ridiculously overpriced goods. He was already paying £7.25 for his black coffee, that’s 5 cans of beans down the drain, he tells himself. Instead, he licks his lips and savours the smell.

Swallowing the lump of regret in his throat, he warms his hands with the coffee as he walks back to the flat, the tips of his ears and nose turn bright pink from the cold.

————

He tries the knob before even attempting to fish his keys out of his pocket. The clock at the coffee shop earlier read 12:17, he can safely assume that Tim has come home from his morning activities by this time.. He would never bother to lock the front door when he’s home, Roger on the other hand always did. He just felt safer that way. Roger couldn’t really understand why his flatmate did it, but he’s sort of grateful for it right now. 

It’s unlocked and opens with ease as he expected it to, and with a shake of his hair, he nudges the door open with his shoulder, wanting nothing more than to get inside and wrap himself in a blanket. But before Roger can even look where he’s going, he steps on something in the doorway and loses his footing. 

He falls forward with a thump, catching himself on his knees and his left elbow. Despite his attempt to keep his coffee clutched in his right hand, it slips from his hand upon impact, and the hot liquid splashes on his hand and soaks into the carpet beneath him. 

He quickly pulls his hand away from the offending coffee with a sharp inhale, getting up on his knees to clutch his hand to his chest. 

It happened too fast for him to really realise. He takes a moment for it to set in.

Roger inhales. Still clutching his hand, he stands up with his jaw tightly clenched. Turning around to look at the culprit of his fall, he sees Tim's white boots laying in front of the entrance as if they’d been kicked off and not paid any attention to. Again. Roger didn’t appreciate it. It’s not like he really cared about anything being very organised, but he didn’t like when other people’s slobbish behaviour affected him negatively. Not in situations like this, especially after multiple conversations about boots in the doorway.

Roger turns his head back to look at the mess on the floor. The £7.25 coffee leaves a nice large stain on the cream coloured carpet.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

“Tim!!” He calls out in a shaky voice. Clenching his fists at his side. 

A few moments after, his roommate sticks his head out of his doorway into the hallway. 

Tim wasn’t a bad roommate or anything, he and Roger got on really well. Great, even. They kept each other company and didn’t bother each other too much, most of the time.

“What’s wrong?” Tim squints, pushing his hair out of his face while his other hand holds the door open 

“Your shoes, your fucking boots-“ Roger starts, gesturing to the footwear 

“God. This again?” Tim rolls his eyes. Opening the door more and straightening himself out to face Roger better

“No! You never listen to me,” Roger says exasperatedly, kicking the boots to the side. 

“I tripped on your stupid fucking boots and now my coffee has become a piece of modern art on the bloody carpet!” Roger explains

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going? It’s really not that hard Roger. Where are your glasses?” Tim says, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation

“Why don’t YOU keep your bloody shoes where they’re supposed to be? It’s not that hard, Tim. I love here too you know.” He mocks.

“We’ve talked about this before and you’ve agreed to stop doing it! So what on earth just happened!”  
Roger blabbers 

“Jeez, Rog. Why are you getting so worked op? Fucking shut up and relax. It’s not a huge deal! Go back to bed.” Tim shouts 

Roger's lip wobbles at that, and he shuts his eyes to combat any tears threatening to appear. 

“Don’t, don't say that to me.” He says in a small voice 

“Are you crying? Unbelievable.” Tim says, throwing his hands in the air. 

“You know what, nevermind, have a good day Rog.” He says, backing up into his room and slamming the door shut

Roger rubs his eyes, mumbling to himself in pure frustration. He tries to take a deep breath but it comes out shaky and he can’t stop the tears from spilling any more. It only makes him feel worse, embarrassed, about himself today. 

He gathers his cleaning supplies as tears freely slip down his reddened cheeks. He tries his best to keep his composure as he scrubs the carpet on his knees.

It’s not like the events of today were excruciatingly awful, but maybe Roger would have dealt with them differently, better, on a different day

-

It’s 3 PM by the time Roger decides to stop working. He managed to retype a fair portion of the previously deleted document. He’s getting tired and his head is pounding from what he’s guessing is a mix of not enough sleep and staring at his laptop screen for too long. 

Getting up from his desk, he rubs his eyes and yawns. The bed in front of him almost taunts him. Begging him to submit to his biological needs and to lay down and waste the rest of the day. As much as he wants to just close his eyes for ten minutes, he knows he’ll be out like a light by the time he hits the sheets. He has to get ready for his date, anyways. 

He’s faced with his reflection again, he’ll have to do something about it. He runs his hands through his tangled hair with a sigh, hair that he’s been growing out now for quite some time. It’s just past his shoulders now and probably needed some TLC. 

He knows he can’t keep it forever, he’ll probably have to cut it all off when he gets a proper job. With it being labelled as unprofessional or whatever. Maybe it was a good thing though, with how often he gets mistaken for a woman these days. 

He doesn’t even bother to step away from the cold spray of the shower upon initially turning it on. His tired body needs a kick in the shins. The pipes groan at him unhappily and he inhales sharply as the ice-cold water beats down his back and he stands there stiffly waiting for it to turn warm.

It takes a moment of keeping his composure under the freezing water to realise that it's not turning warm today. The heater only worked half the time. With a groan he steps out of the water and wraps his arms around himself, tucking his chin down in instinct an attempt to warm himself up 

He wishes he could afford to have it fixed, or that their cold landlord cared about their tenants' living conditions. 

He steps under again anyway. He wasn’t going to be dirty and look unkempt on his date. 

It feels like electricity, the 3 degree weather was never in his favour. 

He shampoos his hair with stiff and frozen fingers, sits on the floor of the shower under the water till his lips turn blue and his heart rate slows down. 

Till his breathing is shallows and he’s calm for once, letting his mind wander. 

Wrapped in a towel, he sits on his bed and drapes his duvet over himself. He doesn’t care that his hair is wetting it. His teeth are chattering and he needs warmth. He doesn’t know how long he sits and eventually lays there but when he warms up and opens his eyes it’s dark outside his window.

The apartment was dark and empty, aside from the lamp he just turned on in his bedroom. He fumbles in the dark of the hallway to find the light switch. He knows Tim isn’t home. He turns on the lamp in the living room too, just so he doesn’t feel so lonely. 

-

It’s 7 Pm when Roger arrives at the rink, exactly the time they were supposed to meet. 

Stepping out of the taxi into the crowded street, he takes in the atmosphere. People in coats rush past each other. There are lights strung above the outdoor rink casting a warm tint to the otherwise cold night. People are chatting around, sitting outside the small cafes and restaurants surrounding the area. The stalls with steaming pots of mulled wine make him smile and remind him of childhood Christmas parties where he’d help his mother chop the fruit for the said drink.

Leaning against the side of the rink, he pulls his phone out and removes one of his gloves, glancing around trying to find his date.  
Roger had seen his pictures, it shouldn't be hard to find him at all. 

“Hey. Just got here. I’m by the rink” He texts. 

He stares at his phone for a moment longer

“You here yet?” He adds. 

Roger sighs, making sure his phone was not on silent before slipping it into his pocket and putting his glove back on. 

He waits another couple of minutes, maybe 10, before deciding to walk around and look. 

He passes by various stalls and people, feels his mouth water at the sight and smell of various baked goods and food trucks selling different delicacies.  
Children run past him and nearly bump into his legs a couple of times, but he doesn’t really mind.

He circles the rink a couple times with no one in sight. He decides to fish out his phone again. 

He should try to call this time, he thinks. He can’t help but get a little antsy

It rings for around 3 minutes before the sound of the automated voice telling him to leave a message rings in his ear.

-

Roger feels defeated. It’s 8 pm and he feels like an idiot for still refreshing his text messages, wishing he’d never agreed to this in the first place. His ears and nose sting in protest to the cold.

“Let it go.” He thinks to himself.

He adjusts his scarf higher up on his neck and attempts to warm his hands with the cup of cheap mulled wine he purchased that’s just about lukewarm now. 

It's sad, he thinks to himself. He’s never been stood up before. The guy seemed interested enough in him, but when he called for the third time to discover that the man had finally blocked his number he felt pathetic and angry. He could’ve been playing a gig right now, or at home buried in his sheets. Instead, he’s shuddering in the cold outside an ice skating ring nursing a cup of alcohol after being stood up for a date. 

The tickets were a waste of money too. Admission wasn’t the cheapest this time of year, judging by the crowd of people in and around the area alone. 

Fuck it, he thinks. He’s not gonna let them go to waste, one of them at least. 

-

The ice is slippery and wet. If he had gone earlier before there were too many people maybe the ice would be in better condition. 

He holds onto the guard rails for balance, trying his best not to fall and wet his coat though he knew it was practically unavoidable. His legs wobbled in the damp rented skates as he tried to push himself forward. He doesn’t remember it being this hard. The last time he skated was about 2 years ago, to be fair. He cut himself some slack.

Letting go of the rail, Roger tries his best to steady himself as he awkwardly glides in a straight line on the ice. His victory didn’t last for long as he lost his balance and slipped backward, landing on his ass. He stood up as quickly as possible before his embarrassment could step in. 

-

When Roger falls for the nth time that night, things aren’t so fun and light hearted anymore. His teeth are chattering and his gloves are wet, he knows the back of his coat is too. He’s sick of today, the sadness has mixed with frustration which led to bitterness has soured his mood. The cold breeze is like a slap in the face and his fingers are going numb. 

He feels sort of ashamed seeing everyone around him skating with their friends family or lovers, all talking and gliding together, while he’s alone and struggles to get up by himself every time he falls. He just hopes no ones paying attention to him.

That last thought was unfortunately not a reality as someone skates up to him after he attempts to stand up on wobbly legs. 

“Here, grab my hands.” The stranger says, squatting down a bit to end extending his hands out to Roger for him to grab.

Roger accepts, letting the man pull him up by his wet gloves and attempts to keep his balance as he grabs onto his hands 

“Thanks.” He says, looking up at the man. He’s much taller than Roger, a bit lanky, and has a bush of unruly dark curls sitting atop his head. He has a rainbow scarf around his neck and Roger has to hide his smile at that.

Roger knows he must be good at skating, his boots aren’t the crappy rentals, they’re sleek and black with little stars on them. 

“You look like Bambi over here.” He laughs, warm and bright, teeth flashing.

“Oh” Roger flushes a bit, he can’t help but to feel embarrassed

“I’m only joking. It’s a bit difficult to learn on your own, isn’t it? Is no one here with you?” The man questions, still supporting Roger

“Yeah no...I was supposed to meet up with someone but I stood up” Roger laughs.  
“Now I look like a massive idiot here by myself.” 

“I’m sorry, what an asshole.”

“It’s alright. I was going to leave soon, spare everyone’s poor eyes from my Bambi antics.” Roger swallows

“Hey hey, I can teach you.” He says warmly, flashing another one of those smiles that showed off his straight pointy teeth  
“If that's alright, of course.”

“I suppose so.” Roger laughs, straightening himself out, still shivering

“I’m Brian, by the way,” Brian says,

“Roger.” Roger nods back 

“Alright, Roger, grab my hands.” 

-

“Here, slide your left foot towards as if you were walking” Brian says,

Roger tries to.

“Okay”

“Then slide your right foot forward.”

“But my left one is going to slide backward.” Roger laughs 

“Ah ah ah, put your weight on your left leg, lean this way-“ Brian says, squeezing his left hand 

Though a bit wobbly, Roger is able to slide his right foot forward, pressing himself to Brian and instinctively wrapping his hands around his waist as to balance himself when he feels himself slipping 

“See! There you go.” Brian smiles, skating backward a bit to hold Roger's hands again.

“Shut up.” Roger laughs 

“Here, try again, just keep doing that.”

Roger awkwardly slides and shuffles forward with a firm grip, Brian looks over his shoulder to make sure he won’t bump into anyone.

They’re slowly able to make it from one end of the rink to the other. Roger laughs with relief when they make it to the end.

“That wasn’t that bad” Roger says, letting go of Brian’s hands and gripping onto the side rail

“It’s real fun once you get the hang of it.”

They go across the rink once again, this time with Roger only gripping onto one hand just to balance himself.

And when he falls this time, he doesn’t feel so bad about it. He laughs it off with a smile when Brian helps him back up.

And when he glides from one end to the other on his own with little trouble, he feels proud of himself.

-

“You should take those off,” Brian says, referring to Rogers gloves 

“My hands are cold.” He replies, plopping his borrowed skates on the return table.

“They’re colder because it’s wet, here-“ Brian says before reaching out and peeling them off his hands, setting them down carefully on the table and enveloping Rogers hands in his 

“Oh.” Roger sighs,  
“Your hands are very warm.” 

“Better than your sopping wet gloves?”

“Much better.” Roger smiles

“Here, have this too,” Brian starts as he removes his rainbow scarf from himself and carefully wraps it around Rogers neck, hoping to provide him more warmth. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“You’re shivering like a leaf, nuh uh, stay warm.”

Roger scoffs, but he finds it cute  
“So.” Brian says 

“So?” Roger giggles

“So, I hope you had a better time with me than you would’ve with that idiot who stood you up?” He cocks his eyebrows 

“Why, jealous?” 

“How could I be jealous of such a fool?”

“What makes him a fool?”

“He stood you up. How idiotic of him, he had it all.”

“Oh shut up, you’re terrible.” Roger's nose crinkles and he laughs at the horrible flirting  
“You know, I’m quite hungry, would you like to join me for a bite before I head home?” He asks as he slides his hands out of Brian’s to warm them in his pocket instead 

“Yeah. Sure. I’d love that. Yeah.” Brian replies a little too quickly, but he could not care less right now 

“Perfect,” Roger says as he grins with his teeth. 

-

It’s 10 pm on Christmas eve and the only restaurant in the area they find open is a tiny pizza shop with two tables inside. 

It’s cozy, Roger thinks. The greasy hot pizza was nothing but heaven to him at that very moment.  
It’s burning his tongue but he can’t help himself as he scarfs it down. 

They talk. A lot. 

Roger discovers Brian is getting his masters in astrophysics at Imperial College, plays guitar, and occasionally does gigs with his flatmate John.

A jam session is promised.

And when the restaurant owner kicks them out to close shop and they part ways, it’s not without Roger getting a “Goodnight Bambi. Merry Christmas.” and a kiss on the cheek from Brian.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos and or comment if you enjoyed, it truly means a lot to to us


End file.
